


City Elf Blues

by memai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, himbo alert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memai/pseuds/memai
Summary: Ilara Tabris knows she'll never find love on her own terms, and reluctantly agrees to her father's marriage proposal. But when Vaughan's actions send her off to the Grey Wardens, she soon finds her long-desired independence is not all it's cracked up to be. A one-shot that got out of control.





	1. I was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an Alienage so full of people, Illara Tabris feels so alone.

Evening came to Denerim by brightly lit street lamps and dark, sharp shadows cast by tall, crowded buildings. Pot-bellied guards marked themselves as off-duty, shifting posts as they waddled down narrow stone steps and into warm taverns, hoping for a mug of ale and dinner before the missus came back from work.

Elves poured out of stately townhouses, holding tightly onto the ratty bags that were slung over their shoulder, carrying back what little they made for the day back to their family in the Alienage. More still came out of backdoors of inns and pubs and shops, careful not to make themselves seen in the light, lest a bored guard made a game of chasing them back behind the walls.

Illara Tabris wiped her hands down on a torn, dirty apron, “Anything else, mum?” She looked over her shoulder to the portly cook in the tavern, a stern looking woman who wielded a wooden ladle with the ferocity of a veteran soldier.

“No, love, you’re done,” her voice was hoarse with age, and her wrinkles looked deeper from the harsh shadows, “That Sarah came in already, the men’ll have to do without your pretty face tonight.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Ilara joked, “I suppose she has talents elsewhere.”

“She doesn’t spill the drinks as often as you do, that’s true,” the cook looked at the young elven girl with her one good eye, “You best make sure you’re here early tomorrow. We’ve got a full house and I’m not about to lose my head because you’re off in wonderland again.”

“Yes, mum. Thank you, mum,” and with that, she gathered the coinpurse with her earnings, and made a quick, hasty exit out the back door.

It was the same as it had always been. Everyday, she worked for hours at the tavern, serving drinks and food to the people of Denerim, guards and mercenary bands mostly. Then cleaning the kitchen and scrubbing down messes in the dining area. While most elves were hidden in the back, the cook had commented on Ilara’s looks enough that the owner felt no issue bringing her out, “There’s a pretty one, lads,” he’d exclaim.

And uncomfortable as that made her, it was what made her money. She’d steel herself with that comfort-- that she was lucky no one had hurt her, that she could still go home at the end of the day and share what she had made with her family. Sure, some of the men get rowdy, some of the men holler and jeer, some tried to reach out and take what wasn’t theirs, but she had always come home in one, safe piece.

She kept her head down throughout the whole walk home. Easier to see where she was going, less likely to run into some disgruntled human. And this was Denerim, no one picked up after their dogs.

Soon the neat, cobblestone streets turned to dirt paths and muddy puddles, and the smell of garbage and clean laundry signalled that yes, she was home. The human lords cared little for the Alienage, only doing something about it when a sympathetic human lobbied for some kind of change. Even then, there was little done. Foul water ran through the slums freely, and houses were constantly patched with fixes that were only meant to last a few years. Some buildings had even toppled down completely, but like most places in the Alienage, this quickly turned into a place where the locals threw their rubbish and discarded old belongings.

But it was home, dirty and poor as it was.

Past the drunk dockworkers heaped outside a makeshift tavern, she turned down a few narrow alleys and made it to her own home. The front door sagged out of place, and the wood frame should have been replaced years ago, but the smell wafting out of the window was all she needed to know she was home, safe and sound. She pushed the door and entered the small house and smiled as a familiar redhead fussed over the fire.

“What’s for dinner?” Ilara put her bag down and pulled out a chair, “Another ‘toss everything and pray for the best’ stew, Shianni?”

“Ha, ha, very funny cousin,” and true enough, Shianni threw in a handful of chopped up vegetables into the bubbling pot, “I would get fish, but El’s still got a bad arm. So yes, stew it is.”

Ilara looked around, pulling her blonde hair free of the bun she had put it up in, “Is my da’ not home yet?”

“Hmm? No, why?”

“It’s late.”

Shianni stirred the pot, “Well, since you  _ finally _ agreed to the marriage, he’s got plenty to do with the Hahren.”

“He’s already got the match.”

“You know it doesn’t stop just there, Lara.”

“He doesn’t have to go out of his way to do all this,” Ilara frowned, tracing the old, deep grain in the table with her finger, “He knows I can help.”

“Yeah, but you’re the bride!” Shianni turned to flash a grin, “Brides don’t get to do anything except sit there and look pretty for everyone!”

But Ilara had none of it, “He’s getting old.”

“Could’ve fooled me with the way he ran out this morning.”

Ilara sighed, “Maker’s mercy…”

“Surprised he got you to say yes.”

“I dunno, cousin,” Ilara slumped in her seat, slipping out of her flat, worn shoes, “It’s not much of a choice, thinking about it now.”

“You were kicking and screaming about wanting to get married,” Shianni beat the wooden spoon against the pot, resting it on a small plate, “Something happened?”

But Ilara’s answer didn’t come immediately.

Shianni returned to cooking, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“You turned away your marriage proposal.”

The statement didn’t surprise Shianni, even if it shocked the Alienage at first, “Love is for the birds, Lara. And you know what? With everything that’s going out there? There’s no way anyone like me will have time taking care of a family.”

Ilara smiled softly, “Still playing vigilante? You work as a caretaker, you don’t have to avenge everybody out there in the Alienage.”

“It’s… not that. It’s just, you hear all these stories, you know? You send off little kids back to their mothers, and you hear about how the husband’s a drunk layabout, or that he’s in jail again.” Shianni turned to face her cousin now, content to let the stew simmer for a while longer, “Helping people is a lot of work. I understand why the Hahren turned gray so early.”

“Don’t let him hear you, Shia, he lives down the street.”

“Oh shush, he doesn’t need protecting.”

Ilara watched as her cousin continued her work, pulling clay cups out of the broken old cabinet, pouring them both a cup of tea.

“You still didn’t answer my question: What made you say yes?”

“I… It’s really stupid. I like love, I want to be loved! And I  _ want _ to get married.”

“So why’d you fight it?”

“It’s… it’s different when you pick someone for yourself, in’nit?”

“Is it?”

“You meet someone who cares about you, you learn about them, right? Get to know each other, grow to love one another. I know it’s… sappy, but it’s nice feeling to want someone and have that feeling returned, you know?”

“Excuse me while I try to not gag into dinner.”

“You’re awful.”

Shianni laughed, “Look, you’re pretty. I can easily see you shacking up with some handsome lad. Your father’s picked a great match for you, promise.”

But Ilara’s own expression was a sullen one.

“What happened?”

“I saw that boy today at the tavern.”

“Oh! The one you fancy?” But Shianni stayed her excitement, “Wait, no… something happened, didn’t it?”

Ilara held her arms around her protectively, blue-green eyes now focused hard on the floor, “I overheard him talking with his friends.”

Shianni didn’t have to prod much further, “Aw… aw no, I’m sorry, Lara.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, no honestly? It’s not. You thought you had something there and…” She squared her shoulders, “You know what? I know your father got you a great match! He’s all the way from Highever! He’s a great guy, I know he is! You don’t need some dumb human boy, they’re not worth the trouble anyway.”

“I know, I just… hoped things would be different.”

Shianni wasn’t one who gave up easily, however, “Look, I saw that boy you’re talking about, and as cute as he was, he’s nothing compared to the one your father picked.”

“Oh?”

“I heard he even made _ Soris _ blush.”

That made Ilara laugh, “Oh shut up!”

“It’s true!”

“Look, thank you, I know… I know you’re trying to cheer me up.”

“Trying? It’s not working?”

“No matter how great a man father picked… it’s not my choice.”

“I know.”

“It stings, knowing I’ll never experience it on my own.”

“It’s the world we live in,” Shianni turned around, pulling the hot pot off the fire and onto a thick rag, “And that’s alright, you’ll make the most of it, and maybe he’ll make you happy.”

“He’d better,” Ilara twisted her fingers, nervous energy running through her veins, “Da’ worked so hard to get that match, and if he just ends up like all the others…”

“Well, it’s not like you could  _ make _ a man from scratch,” Shianni turned and collected wooden bowls in her arms, “Help me with the table, will ya?”

Lara got up, and put down cups and spoons, hands focused on the task but her mind was far away in her thoughts, “If I had a choice, I’d pick someone who was funny and charming, because no one likes a Frowning Fergus. He’d be strapping and handsome too, because, of course.”

Shianni laughed, but not cruelly, “We’re talking about a  _ man _ here, right? Because I’d hate to make you face reality, but…”

“I know, it’s… stupid fancies.”

Shianni’s shoulders drooped, “You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.”

“Well,” and here, Ilara perked up with a smile, “If he’s as good looking as you say he is, thank the Maker. Because if I have to put up with him for the rest of my life, let it at least be a face I can look at!”

“Ah-ha! So you  _ are _ as shallow as the rest of us!”

“I’d be lying to everyone if I said I didn’t want someone who looks at least as good as King Cailan.”

And though the house was small and falling apart, they laughed as they always did every night. That was life for a city elf, and Ilara knew it well. They struggled and they had little to their name, but moments they shared together? Taking what they could to laugh and love, it made it all hurt less. The squalor and poverty were nothing more than tiny, mortal worries to be dealt with another day. For now, dinner had to be served, and jokes had to be made.

But their laughter stopped when the door creaked open, letting out a screech and a scratch when it scraped against the wooden floor. The marks were proof enough that this happened often enough that no amount of repairing would ever get it back to its former glory.

“Da!” Ilara rushed to greet her father at the door. Cyrion looked older than he really was, his head had gone completely gray and his wrinkles were deeply set. And they grew deeper when he broke out into a smile, embracing his daughter.

“Lara, how are you?”

“No, no, we’re not doing this,” she crossed her arms around her chest, “Da’, you’re late, you shouldn’t have stayed out so late, what if the guard catches you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Cyrion smiled, “I was only out with the Hahren, the guards wouldn’t cause any trouble.”

“Out with the Hahren?” Shianni moved around the table and helped her uncle to his seat at the dinner table, “Something happen?”

“Nothing at all,” then a knowing look to Ilara, “Just getting the final preparations for your wedding day, dearest.”

“Da…” Ilara sat at her own seat with a huff, “You didn’t have to do all that, Shianni and I can help.”

“And risk losing your job at the tavern?” He waved her off, “It’s no trouble.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

Cyrion let out a low, rumbling chuckle, “You’re just like your mother, never content to sit around, always has to get up and stay moving.”

Shianni served the stew, hauling the pot to the table and taking spoonfuls of the thick, hearty broth, “Whoever you’ve got matched for her, uncle, he’s gonna have his hands full, I just know it it!”

Cyrion laughed, eagerly accepting his bowl, “Good thing he’s got big strong hands, then.”

The laughter continued on through the night, even if Ilara was beet red by the end of the dinner. It was moments like these, she thought, that life wasn’t all too terrible. She could make peace with this marriage proposal, just like how she made peace with the injustices done towards the people of the Alienage, so as long as she has the company of her family.

Things will be fine as long as she has them around.

Right?


	2. I am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, she's not so alone.

The darkspawn spared little in their tirade. Everything they touched was tainted with darkness. Flowers wilted at their approach, and rivers grew dark and muddy whenever they left.

Ilara Tabris was not glad to be a Grey Warden, but she was thankful it was an honorable pardon from execution. And though slaying the beasts made her feel like she was doing her part in helping the world, the long walks made her calves ache and her arms tired.

Alistair jogged up beside her, pulling off a pack from her shoulders and easily carrying it on his, “Allow me, madam.”

“Hey, I can carry that,” though she protested, she did little to take it back.

“You sure? You look tired,” a concern frown pulled his lips down, “You took a hit from that last fight, Amell’s saying you still need more rest.”

“She’s a mage, she thinks everyone needs a rest.”

“I can hear you!” The illustrious leader responded all the way from the front.

Alistair chuckled, “Well, to be fair, she _also_ did the patching up on your leg, so I think she’s got a bit more authority over you there.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Can’t have you collapsing into a heap, you’re the only one who can pick locks!”

“That is true, you’d all be stuck in old dungeons and castles without a way to get out. I see your point.”

“Well, I could always bust down a wall.”

But Illara pretended not to hear, “Whatever shall the wonderful Warden Amell do without my wily, clever ways?”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Alistair laughed, “You’re talented and clever and beautiful--”

“Beautiful?” Ilara’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “Beautiful, Alistair?”

“I--what? Ah! No! No, no! Oh! Not that you aren’t beautiful! It’s just that, you know…”

“I don’t, Alistair,” she had a grin that could rival a cat’s.

“You are beautiful just, um… Well, that is to say...”

She let the lad suffer long enough what with the tips of his ears burning red, “Thank you, Alistair.”

“I…”

“You’re not too bad on the eyes yourself.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Is that your attempt at flirting, Alistair?” A purring Antivan voice jumped into the mix, “Surely that is not how you intend to woo the poor lady, is it?”

“Maker’s breath, can’t you all just leave me alone?”

 

* * *

 

Camp grew dark and quiet as the group settled for the evening. Mahariel and Cousland took up scouting duties and headed into the nearby areas. Amell, Brosca and Aeducan began to put up tents and start fires, fitting, given how feisty the three of them could get.

Ilara did as she always did when it came to camp; her work in the tavern honed her cooking skills. So once the fire started, she went straight to work preparing dinner. They were in Ferelden, so stew it was.

Alistair sat beside her and watched her work, hazel eyes fixated on the way her hands moved.

“Staring at me or dinner?”

“Both,” he joked, “But mostly dinner, I’m starving.”

“I know, I can hear you all the way here.”

“Ha, ha, you’re a funny one, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Blast it, there’s no winning with you, is there?” his eyes creased with laughter, “Alright, what’re you making?”

“Stew,” and then, a self-depreciative grin, “I know, I know, but we don’t have a lot going on. We’ve got a _Dalish hunter_ in the party and we’ve got all this meat I’m struggling to figure out what to do with.”

“Not that I’m complaining! It’s a Ferelden delicacy.”

“I’m starting to think ‘Ferelden delicacy’ is just throwing whatever you’ve got into the biggest pot and praying to the Maker for something edible.”

“The praying part’s the most important.”

Ilara let out a most unlady-like laugh, “If that isn’t the truth.”

“Did you cook for your family back in Denerim.”

“I took turns with my cousin, yeah,” she stirred the thick broth, cubes of meat peeking out onto the surface, “But mostly because of the work I did.”

“As a cook?”

“Tavern wench,” Ilara said with a playful grin, “But I had to fill in for the cook on more times than I care to admit, so…”

“Well, drunk food is filling food, isn’t it?”

“We’ll see, by the time all this is done cooking, you’d have slurped up this entire pot.”

“A testament to your fine cooking, I promise.”

“Flattering me? Already? Maybe this marriage will work out after all!”

A beat. “M-Marriage? Wh-What?”

“Didn’t you know? We’re getting married.”

“Ha, ha, funny. Oh, that’s a funny one.”

But Ilara’s expression did not change.

“You’re… not serious are you?”

Then a smile crept across her lips, before she burst out into loud laughter, “The look on your face!”

“Alright, you got me, you evil fiend.”

“Look, while you’re over here making jokes, why don’t you help me pass the potatoes, mm?”

 

* * *

 

Lothering was lost.

The news hit the group hard, but Ilara had struggled with the news since Bodahn mentioned it at camp.

It isn’t that she would readily weep for humans, but so much about Lothering reminded her of the Alienage. Poor folk huddled together in fear and squalor, cramped along pews as they offered their prayers to the Maker and Andraste. Holy Mothers in the Chantry forgave them for their sins and sympathized with their plight, but offered little else.

Their scared faces reminded her of the threat Vaughan had made, that her actions would effectively raze her home to the ground. The promise of destruction for her home, because she stood up for what’s right.

She stayed quiet in the camp, her jokes fell flat and her tears fell freely. Even now, when everyone supped on Mahariel’s cooking, she hid away from the group, knees brought up to her face as she watched her comrades idly.

“There you are.”

“Alistair, I--,” she hastily wiped away the tears from her eyes, “I didn’t hear you.”

He only offered a smile, “Are you alright?”

She shook her head, and rested her chin on her knees, “No.”

“So… I guess this is a bad time, then?"

But as Alistair got up to leave, her hand reached for his wrist, a quiet plea for him to stay where he was.

“What’s that?”

He handed her a flower, slightly bruised and starting to wilt, but the color and fragrance were still fresh, “Do you know what this is is?”

She smiled, despite herself, “A rose?”

Alistair smiled, “I… Yes. I picked it in Lothering.”

“Oh.”

He kept trying, “I thought… it was strange, seeing it. All around was this ugly, awful destruction. And yet, this little guy right here still bloomed. I thought, how could something so beautiful, survive amongst all this awfulness.”

Ilara smiled as she watched him thumb the petals of the rose, his own eyes lost in whatever ideals swirling in that pretty head of his.

“And what do you intend to do with it, Alistair?”

“I… thought I’d give it to you.”

“Did you now?”

“In… a lot ways, you remind me of this rose. How someone so amazing, so beautiful can survive out here.”

“There you go again with that beautiful rubbish.”

“I mean it,” the genuine smile across Alistair’s face made her heart leap out of her chest.

“So what, does that mean we’re _really_ married now?”

“Hah! You won’t land me that easily, woman. I know I’m quite the catch.”

“You are,” she smiled as he gently placed the flower in her hand, “You really are.”

“So… do you like it? It’s… It’s a stupid thing, I know, I… I just thought…”

“Thank you, Alistair.”

Flower in hand and courage in her heart, she unfurled herself from her position and reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek, “I’m glad you’re here with me right now.”

“Me too.”

Suddenly the looming darkness did not seem so frightening. Somehow, the task ahead for the Grey Wardens did not seem so daunting.


End file.
